When I was little, our family kept chickens (among other animals). One year in the fall, we were doing the slaughter and putting up of the chickens. I was three, and my parents had friends over helping out, including their friend Janet and her daughter, Maria, also three. After much processing of chickens and what-have-you, Maria asked her mom what was for dinner. Janet responded that we were having chicken, of course, and Maria protested, "No! I don't want chicken!" And I, in my three-year-old wisdom, turned to her and said:
"Tough shit."
